


Last Light

by rosegardeninwinter



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/pseuds/rosegardeninwinter
Summary: “We wanted to celebrate something with you, Father,” his son says, a bottle of champagne held out like a peace offering.I don't think this is what any of you wanted when you asked for a sequel to "First Light" (which I recommend you read if you haven't, though this piece will work as a standalone), but here we are. :D





	Last Light

The sun is going down, darkening the grand, quiet house, when the knock comes. Gabriel would wait for Natalie to answer it, but he’s already in the entryway; he straightens his crimson tie and opens the door. 

“We wanted to celebrate something with you, Father,” his son says, a bottle of champagne held out like a peace offering. 

“And tell you something.” The girl (never really daughter-in-law) looks more confident, smoothing down a pink skirt against the stormy breeze at their backs. 

He’s nothing if not proper. He invites them in with as much familiarity as he can muster. These past five years - 

(His heart is starting to bother him)  
(He didn’t go to his son’s wedding)  
(The painting of Emilie taunts him more by the day) 

But he pops the champagne cork anyway. His son takes some, but not the girl. She perches on the velvet couch and throws her sparkling glance back and forth between the men. For some reason, her nervous excitement annoys him. 

His son takes a deep breath, takes the girl’s hand. “Father, Marinette and I wanted you to know . . . you’re going to be a grand-père.” 

Gabriel feels as though an electric shock has struck his spine, thrumming down from his head to be grounded in his shoes. 

(“Oh, mon coeur!" He can hear her voice in his head. “Such wonderful news!”) 

“Father?” His son has her eyes, green and inquisitive. “Father are you happy?” 

Gabriel coughs to clear the lump that has risen unbidden to his throat. 

(“Are you happy, Gabriel? Tell him,” Emilie prompts.) 

“I am,” he says. He probably says it too cooly, but the girl’s hands fly to her mouth and his son starts blinking rapidly. “Congratulations, both of you.” 

For maybe the first time in five years, it’s the closest thing to happy he’s felt. 

“Father,” Adrien says in a choked voice and Gabriel finds himself crushed in a hug. He pats his son’s back delicately at first, then rests a hand against the younger man’s shoulder in a firm gesture of warmth. 

Adrien steps away, wiping his face, and turns to his wife. “You were right, as usual.” 

Gabriel extends his champagne for a toast. “Right about what?” 

“I knew you’d be pleased,” the girl says, and she hops up from the couch to take her husband’s hand around the other flute. “I’m so glad.” The crisp clinking sound is a cheery point of punctuation on the good news. The champagne goes down tickling and Gabriel’s lips twitch in spite of himself as he pours more. He offers some to Adrien, but the boy declines. 

He seems to be having some sort of nonverbal conversation with his wife. She nods encouragingly, grips his arm, and bites her cheek. 

Gabriel frowns. “What is it?” 

“There’s something else, Father,” says Adrien. “And uh - you may want to sit down.” 

The frown deepens. Gabriel sets down his champagne and crosses one ivory slack over the other as he sits, suddenly suspicious. “If it’s about money, you’re a grown man - "

Adrien pinches his brow, but a short, exasperated laugh escapes him. “Father, I wouldn’t be that irresponsible. Or manipulative. Just listen.” 

“We’re trusting you,” says the girl, “with a secret. Our most important secret.” 

“I understand if you wish to keep the announcement private. I respect your wishes.”

“Mr. Agreste, please listen,” says the girl, a bit sharply. “This isn’t about the baby. I mean, it is, but - “ 

“Father, if we tell you this secret, we could be putting you in harm’s way. You must be - " The boy pauses, seems to be fighting back a smirk. “You must be serious.” 

“Very well,” Gabriel says, his curiosity piqued, folding his fingers. “I understand.” 

“It’s a bit complicated to explain,” says the girl. “My parents didn’t get it at first, until we showed them these.” She laughs. “So we thought we’d lead with them this time.” She drops something into her husband’s hand. Gabriel leans forward. 

“Careful,” says Adrien, and tips three tiny objects into Gabriel’s palm. A platinum ring, and two circular black studs. 

His blood runs cold. 

He knows Adrien and the girl are explaining what the objects are and what they mean and why it is so very important that he keep their identities safe, but it’s like he’s hearing them from underwater or from a great distance. The tiny talismans feel like they weigh about a thousand pounds, like they’re going to drag his body to the floor with their enormity. 

Five years. And they’re just here. His fingers jerk inward, longing to clutch what he’s destroyed so much and so many for. 

He can bring her back. He can make it right. He can make everything, every minute of the last five years, worth it. 

He knows that he’s been thirty seconds too silent, but not for the reason that the young couple with bated breath must think. He looks up at them again, and it’s like he’s never seen them before. 

“I know it’s a lot,” says the Black Cat. 

“But we decided it was time,” says Lady Luck. 

How can he have been so blind? They would’ve been teenagers, then, when everything began, when they had fun bringing him down, and his hopes were still high. They’ve grown tougher, angrier even, over the years, and he’s grown more desperate. Twisted cupids and jealous sirens are childish tricks in comparison to now. He’s seared her wings and broken his claws and they’ve matched him for every injury. He’s fairly sure that’s why his heart’s acting up. They’re going to kill each other, slowly, not knowing whose lives they’re bargaining. 

But he supposes this was always about bargaining for life. 

“Father, are you alright?” The Black Cat is kneeling beside his chair. Lady Luck hovers behind him. 

(“It’s your son,” Emilie says, chiding. “Our son. Our son’s going to be a father, Gabriel.” She sounds so sad.) 

His head starts to clear. “Yes,” he murmurs, more to Emilie than to his son. "I’m alright. You’re right. It is a lot to take in.” 

And he takes a shuddering breath and tips the jewelry back into his son’s hand, reaches for his wine. “You’re going to have to explain it again, I think.” 

Gabriel spends the rest of the night fighting down a sick feeling in his stomach. He paces in his room with the wide circular window. The design of it casts bars of shadow over the ground. He summons the white moths, not to use them, just to watch their ghostly glow. 

He was so close. 

(“Our son’s going to be a father, Gabriel,” Emilie whispers, “and you couldn’t do that to him.”) 

And she’s right. He can’t. 

Paris doesn't come under threat for almost an entire year.

* * *

The sun is just coming up, gray and soft behind rainclouds, and Adrien stretches awake from the best sleep he’s had not just since the baby was born, but since Hawkmoth disappeared. He turns over and noses Marinette’s hair. “Good morning, my lady,” he says. “I think Hugo slept through the night.” 

“Really?” she yawns. 

“Seems so,” he replies. “It’s a Christmas miracle.” 

“It’s October.” 

“It’s a Halloween miracle.” 

“Kitty,” she grumbles with no real irritation to it, “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Indeed I am,” he says, and kisses her. She hums against his mouth, then pushes him playfully back into the pillows. “The baby needs nursing,” she says. “And we need coffee.” 

“Right away, petite femme.” 

But he’s barely started heating the water when there’s a scream from upstairs. His ring is stored away in its box, not needed for months, but he takes the steps like he’s flying over rooftops again, and races into the nursery to find his wife clutching at the side of the crib, face ashen and entire body shaking. 

The window is open, cold autumn air biting at Adrien’s ribs. 

“Hugo,” Marinette gasps, and the gasp turns into a whimper. “Adrien, Hugo's missing.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry; I've got a part three planned :D


End file.
